


Retreat

by what_the_butler_saw



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Chaste Kiss, Cute, F/M, Feelings, First real talk, Fluff, Friendship, Haven, Lyrium, Magic, PTSD, Pre Skyhold, Short, Sweet, Templar - Freeform, cullen is impressed, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 12:13:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6956047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_the_butler_saw/pseuds/what_the_butler_saw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cullen follows the Herald when she slips out of Haven</p><p>A little piece about Ellarie Lavellan and Cullen getting to know each other just a little bit. </p><p>Hope you enjoy. Comments always welcome :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retreat

There she was again, quietly and unobtrusively walking round the edge of the training area.  
Cullen looked around but nobody seemed to have noticed her slight form, wrapped in that Stone Bear fur coat she wore. He followed her with his eyes as she slipped between tents, then a glimpse of her on the path out to the logging hut. He frowned and moment then looked for Rylen.  
‘Rylen, take over a for a while will you?’  
‘Of course Commander.’  
Cullen ducked into a tent, pulling his armour off, grabbing a fur lined jacket. He kept his sword, but caught up a small training shield. The valley was pretty secure but you never knew.  
Her tracks were easily visible in the snow. She’d scuffed around an elfroot plant here and there, and Cullen smiled. Old habits obviously died hard.  
Passed Taigen’s place, empty now; the man had died in the Conclave. Someone had left a handful of flowers on the front step, the windows were boarded up. The path led past, and here the snow hadn’t stuck and he lost her track for a while, until he saw, higher up the hill, her footprints, this time leading to an overhanging lip of rock where a spindly looking prophet’s laurel grew. He chuckled silently to himself. The footprints came back, almost matching those going up but they split and disappeared between the gap between two rocks.  
He felt a slight tang in the air then, the hint of magic, too late. Without regular lyrium he was almost blind to magic.  
The trap settled about him, the net of a protection barrier.  
He was trapped until it dissolved, and put his hands on his hips, looking around him. Clever. Between two unscaleable rock faces, the barrier was tiny, must have taken only a fraction of the effort to create than if he’d been out in the open.  
Practical magic.  
He felt the restorative energy of the barrier seeping into him, and inhaled deeply. Good magic.  
He was impressed, yet again, he thought, by this slight elven woman who’d dropped out of a rift in the middle of an explosion site.  
And she obviously knew he was following, despite his being cautious.  
He felt the last moments of magic dissipating, and considered. Follow her? He had to admit that she was probably far more able to look after herself out here than he was to help her. He looked back the way he’d come, Haven just visible over the curve of the hill. The silence away from the village was palpable, welcoming, and if he was honest he wanted to see where she went.  
Her tracks left the main path now and headed up the slope through the sparse wood and then she had obviously decided he wasn’t a threat for she’d walked straight across a wide open area of snow covered grassland. A couple of wild druffalo grazed under the trees on the opposite side of the clearing, scuffing at the snow with their hooves to reach the grass beneath. He kept to the right, skirting the open area, sticking to the trees, keeping her tracks in sight.  
This part of the valley was in shadow, the sun having dipped behind the huge encircling mountains hours ago. He stopped, looking ahead and saw a flare, the start of a fire, and the leap of shadows on an overhang of rock. A bird clattered out of the undergrowth ahead of him and he shook his head. if she hadn’t realised he was still following her, then his cover had just been blown away. He made for her tracks and followed them, in the open now, exposed.  
There was a small cave, shallow, but enough to offer protection from light rain or snow. He saw Lavellan inside, bent over a fire, a pot over it and as he drew closer he saw two cups resting beside it.  
‘Commander,’ she said with a smile, looking up.  
‘Herald,’ he said, inclining his head.  
‘Please sit. You are good at tracking. You were very quiet.’  
‘Obviously not quiet enough,’ he grinned, moving into the cave. She patted the ground beside her.  
‘Sit. It gets cold here quickly.’  
He propped the shield against the wall, and slid the buckle undone holding his sword. She glanced up at him, looked at the sword, then away again, and he felt oddly naked without it. He lay it in the dry, before sitting cross legged beside her.  
He glanced around as she poured the now boiling water into the cups. A bedroll, some supplies. A bow and quiver of arrows. ‘Quite a little retreat you have here.’  
She smiled lopsidedly at him and nodded, handing him a cup, holding it steady as his hand shook briefly while taking it. She put her other hand on his, steadying him. He stilled, feeling something tightening across his chest. A strange sensation that wasn’t quite embarrassment at the weakness she’d witnessed in him.  
And then she let him go, leaving him holding his cup and watched him over the rim of hers, blowing it a little before sipping. The moment passed, but he was aware of her eyes appraising.  
Lifting the cup with two hands he sniffed, then sipped it.  
‘That’s … different,’ he said.  
‘Chamomile. It grows in the Free Marches. I haven’t seen it here. I asked my clan to send me some.’  
‘It tastes …’ he sipped again and frowned, considering. ‘Of hay lofts and summer,’ he smiled.  
Her face lit up and she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said happily. ‘Of the sun on the meadows. And it’s good to help you sleep, too.’  
‘Maybe I should ask your clan to send me some then.’  
‘You sleep badly.’ Was he mistaken or was that a statement, not a question.  
‘War leaves many bad memories,’ he said carefully.  
‘War fever.’  
‘Probably. I spent some time at a, well hospital of sorts, I suppose. Run by the chantry for Templars.’ He looked away over the slope. The valley was pristine, Haven lost over the other side of the woods. ‘Your barrier was very effective.’  
‘It was a way to see if you were committed to following me, or easily dissuadable,’ she grinned, her eyes twinkling in the dusk. ‘I felt it spring.’  
He nodded. ‘That’s the way magic should be used. Carefully, practically, not like the mages in the circles, vying to outdo each other, caged like peacocks. You’re-‘ he hesitated. Not sure whether he was being over familiar, but he plunged on. ‘You’re different. The magic I sense in you –‘  
‘Ah, lyrium?’  
‘The remnants of it. I no longer take it.’  
She raised her eyebrows. ‘You are a Templar.’ As if he’d confirmed a suspicion.  
‘Was. After Meredith, my superior, went crazy I decided enough was enough. It took me two years to do anything something it and that’s when Cassandra approached me about the Inquisition.’  
‘Sorry, I interrupted. You were saying about my magic?’  
‘Now I’m going to make an arse of myself talking about something I know nothing of. But your magic seems cleaner, like a tool, not the end in itself.’  
‘I’m Dalish,’ she said, as if that were explanation enough.  
Cullen looked into his tea before sipping again. ‘I could get used to this,’ he said. ‘It grows on you.’  
‘We would be foolish to use magic any other way,’ she said after a moment. ‘It serves us. We use it to hunt, heal, conceal, trap, soothe. It seems to me we have a use for it, whereas humans don’t and so they create a use, and then it becomes the end in itself that you spoke of. Not the use of it.’ She paused. ‘That was a bit garbled, sorry,’ she said and smiled at him. ‘I think we are saying the same thing,’ she laughed lightly, putting her hand on his knee for a moment, before moving her hand to brush her hair behind her ear.  
The sat in silence for a moment, only the crackle of the fire between them. ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked suddenly, pulling her knapsack towards her.  
‘Peckish but –‘  
‘I brought some cheese and bread with me.’  
‘I should get back, leave you to your peace and quiet.’  
She shook her head. ‘Please stay,’ she said. ‘I … it’s nice to have a normal conversation. Everything is about how I can save everyone,’ she said quietly, her hands on her knapsack, her head bowed.  
Cullen looked at her, really looked at her. ‘I hadn’t realised you felt so isolated, I’m sorry.’  
She glanced at him with her large, pretty eyes before turning back to her task. He found himself studying the grey-green tattoo on her face, the sweep of the feather pattern up her cheeks, and the single line that started on her bottom lip, dipping down over her chin, down her neck, and lower.  
‘It isn’t like being isolated. Everyone is friendly and the ambassador wants to know of any instance that I get called names. Like children, some people are unable to control themselves. No, isolated isn’t the word. I feel …’ she paused, her hand held out, offering him a chunk of bread and some cheese. He took them, noticing a slim line of tattoo on the inside of her right wrist as it held her own food. As he waited for her to finish he bit into the bread, a piece of cheese balanced on top and idly wondered if the two lines of tattoo were connected. The thought intrigued him. His gaze ran from her wrist up to her throat, and chin and bottom lip, and he swallowed hard.  
‘Like that peacock in its gilded cage. I feel exotic, an oddity.’  
Cullen blinked at her trying desperately to recall what she’d just said. He stared into the fire, trying to calm the sudden and overwhelming awareness of her. Maker’s breath, he thought, get a grip on yourself man. ‘I …’ he cleared his throat and took a sip of tea, then looked up to find her watching him.  
‘Are you alright Commander?’  
‘Err …please, call me Cullen.’  
‘I am Ellerie.’  
He realised he’d never heard her name before. She was Lavellan, of the Lavellan clan, but Ellerie, it was pretty, it suited her. ‘Ellerie then,’ he said, trying it out.  
She nodded. ‘What were you saying before you looked like you were having minor panic attack?’ she asked, a coquettish smile on her lips.  
‘Sorry, a um, a thought struck me. Some paper work I forgot to … anyway. Um, I was going to say that you don’t seem like an oddity to me, perhaps because I’m a bit of an oddity myself, but that you remind me more of a bird … a sparrow … caught in a net.’  
‘A sparrow? A drab little sparrow?’ She pouted, a half-smile tugging at her lips. ‘Not a hawk, or a sharp-bill, or a –‘  
He pressed his eyes closed, and shook his head, a self-deprecting smile on his lips. ‘I’m such an idiot. A wild thing, was my point. Not an exotic, useless, peacock.’  
‘Ah, point taken. I hope I am more use than a sparrow, at any rate.’  
‘A sparrow came to mind because it is so well camouflaged, and it flits about effortlessly, it looks very fragile but is strong enough to survive the hardest winters.’  
Ellerie let her smile broaden into a grin. ‘I like that,’ she said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘I like that very much. Yes, I can be a sparrow.’ She tugged a mouthful of bread and smiled as she chewed, looking out into over the darkened valley. ‘I like that,’ she repeated as she finished, and brushed crumbs off her lap. In one move she leaned back and lay on her bedroll, her head propped on her hand. ‘And what are you, I wonder. I’ve heard them call you a lion, Cullen. Does that suit you?’  
Cullen kept his eyes on her face as he looked at her. ‘I took a helmet from a dead Templar. It was the head of a roaring lion. I wore it because my helmet had been sundered. Nothing more.’  
‘But does it suit you? In your heart, are you a lion?’  
He shrugged. ‘I think that is more about how people wish to see me. If that makes them feel better, then I’m happy with it.’  
She smiled at that. ‘Ah. So you are. Your strength is in your heart.’  
He raised his eyebrows and felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He was grateful for the cool air and darkness. ‘If it makes you feel better.’  
‘I definitely feel better with the lion of Haven protecting me out here in the wilderness, yes,’ she said and he heard the smile in her voice. ‘Do you have family?’ she asked, suddenly changing track.  
‘Er … yes, siblings. My parents died in the blight. They’re all in South Reach now, though they were still in Honnleath when I left to join the Templars. How about you?’  
‘Family, yes, though the whole clan is my family. I have a blood brother, some half-sisters, my father is still alive, though my mother died a few years ago. Do you keep in touch?’  
‘No, I’m not …’ he searched for a word, ‘I’m a poor excuse for a brother.’  
‘A brother with war fever, so maybe you have an excuse.’  
He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘You are a very generous about someone you know very little about.’  
‘And you are very hard on yourself. Though I doubt I’m the first person to comment on that. More tea?’  
‘I’ll make it,’ he said, grateful for the excuse to change the subject. ‘So what do the Lavellan clan make of you being here?’  
‘You pronounced it right,’ she said, the surprise evident.  
‘I cheated I’m afraid. I asked Solas. What he doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing, I suspect,’ he said as he scooped clean snow into the kettle.  
‘You made the effort to find out. You shall have a reward when I can think of something suitable,’ she smiled. ‘My clan think I’m crazy, that something was knocked loose in the explosion, that I’ve been enchanted, that there must be a man involved, that I’m really dead and someone is impersonating me, and any other number of reasons they can think that might possibly stop me going home to them. All possible reasons, except that I’m of more use here.’  
Cullen laughed out loud, as he settled himself by the fire once more. He was very conscious that she’d stretched her legs out behind him, curling round the fire, with him at the centre. It was simultaneously a very familiar, seductive feeling, and incredibly awkward. He glanced at her face. The light made her skin golden, the – ‘What’s that called? The tattoo? Vallasin?’  
‘Vallaslin,’ she said, and lifted her hand to touch her forehead. ‘Fading a bit now. I’ve had it fourteen, fifteen years. We get when we become adults. Hurts like nothing else, especially this bit,’ she said indicating her throat and lower. Cullen averted his eyes.  
‘It’s for your gods isn’t it?’  
‘Yes, this is for June, god of creating and crafts, though I’ve been talking to Solas about it, and he said it’s actually slave markings. Typical, our people are so crazy they deify their slave masters.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know though, does that matter really? If the ideals that are enshrined are worthy, does it matter how it came about?’  
‘Perhaps not.’ He paused and considered as a thought struck him. ‘So, tell me, how does it feel being called the Herald of Andraste when she isn’t even one of your gods?’  
‘It’s like me calling you the Herald of June. To me it’s meaningless, really. And it shows that humans think this is very much all about them,’ she added slyly, giving him a look.  
‘Ah yes, we are prone to assuming things like that, I’m afraid,’ he grinned. ‘I shan’t call you Herald again. I can see how that might be quite offensive for you.’  
‘I’m not offended. Amused is probably nearer.’ She drew her knees up, tucked her arm under her head. ‘Really, I’d prefer you call me Ellerie, to be honest.’ She looked up at him curiously and Cullen glanced at her again, his gaze holding hers a moment.  
‘If that makes you happy, I will.’ He turned his attention back to the tea making and held up a cup. ‘How much chamomile?’  
‘A big pinch in each cup.’ She yawned.  
‘Are you sleeping here tonight?’ he asked. He wasn’t sure the Herald … he stopped himself, Ellerie should be unaccounted for, for so long.  
‘I didn’t plan to. I didn’t actually plan to be out here for so long, but I’ve had rather delightful company. Sometimes,’ she said, ‘Sometimes I don’t want to sleep in a bed with sheets, or under dead trees lashed into a cabin, or with dusty air. Sometimes I need to feel the cold air on my face, the dew on my hair in the morning, the ground under me. Humans smell different, and stone walls are suffocating.’  
‘Different, or bad?’ he chuckled. He knew some recruits who needed tents to themselves because they weren’t overly familiar with soap and water, though he made sure they were taught how to take care of themselves pretty quickly.  
‘Well, you smell different. Pleasant,’ she mused. ‘Interesting. Some familiar smells. Clean, leather, fur, but metal polish is quite bitter smelling. And the smell of linen, waxy candles, and …,’ she shrugged a shoulder. ‘The you smell,’ she said softly, and Cullen saw her eyes were closed, her head cradled on her bent arm.  
He felt the heat in his cheeks again. She said things so unabashedly, things he found personal but pleasant, hearing them coming from her.  
‘Leliana smells of her soap,’ she went on. ‘The oil for her mail, leather, sweet lavender hair wash. The ambassador smells of sandalwood and candle wax and parchment.’ She opened her eyes to look at him. ‘I smell of –‘  
‘Chamomile and summer meadows,’ Cullen smiled. He held out her tea and she sat up to take it, sitting sideways to the fire, facing him, her knees drawn up. She looked at him over her cup of tea, the steam curling around her face.  
‘This is lovely and I don’t want it to end,’ she said after a moment.  
‘The tea?’ Cullen asked lightly, teasing, but found it hard to keep her gaze. He steeled himself. He’d faced down demons and lived, but this slight elven woman, this little brown sparrow, affected him so much more.  
She reached out slowly and poked his shoulder with one finger, a tight little smile on her lips.  
His breath hitched in his throat, and his words came out a little gruff. ‘I really should be going, I have to … see to the recruits.’  
She cocked her head to one side, an alien, birdlike movement. ‘Then I will walk back with you if you don’t mind?’  
‘Of course not.’  
They drained their cups and tidied the little camp. Cullen didn’t strap on his sword belt, but lifted it and his shield, carrying them loosely. Ellerie scuffed out the little fire, emptied the cups of drowned flower heads, and stacked them at the back of the cave with her bedroll.  
They walked back the way they had come in silence, surrounded by night time noises, rustling in the undergrowth, birds shifting in their roosts, the lap of the water against the ice in the lake. Underfoot the soft creak and crunch of snow as they walked. Their breath mingled in the air around them.  
When she slipped her hand into his he started but willed himself to relax. Her cold fingers curled in his hand like a tiny bird and he found himself rubbing his thumb over her skin as they walked. It felt good, touching another person, sharing himself with another person.  
Too quickly they were passing Taigen’s place, then they were among the tents, with the sounds of men eating and laughing, cups chinked, shadows danced, and he slowed. ‘I … need to –‘ he started, but she turned quickly and slid a hand behind his head, reaching up to press her cool, soft lips to his.  
‘Thank you,’ she whispered and she slipped away from him and was gone.


End file.
